He began to tear apart the bread, which was cooling by now. The smell of it arose fresh as he broke off the end of the loaf. “We wish to bring peace,” he said simply. “Peace for all.”
“We do not need the English to bring us peace.”
He cocked a blond eyebrow. “Then you can bring it amongst yourselves?” he said, his tone cynical. “Because the Welsh have been fighting amongst themselves since the world began. You still fight among yourselves. There will never be one king to unify you because you cannot agree on who it should be. Look at England—we have one king. No small, bickering kingdoms. We are united under one king, and that is what makes us stronger than Wales and Scotland. We are trying to bring that peace to you, but you are warmongers. You think war is the only way, and that is a horrible existence. Do you really want to be at war for the rest of your life?”
She had stopped weeping for the most part, knowing he was, again, correct in his assessment of the Welsh. They did fight each other quite a bit. There was no unifying king, nor was there any hope for one. Even she knew that. She could smell the fresh bread, and it was weakening her resistance, killing her resolve.
The concept of surrender was becoming easier and easier.
“I do not want to be sent away,” she finally said. “To never see my home again would be worse than death.”
Christopher took a knife off the table and buttered his piece of bread. “Then it would be reasonable to accept the offer of a marriage to an English warlord,” he said. “You could remain here, at Brython, and you could teach your children about their Welsh blood, and your husband could teach them about their English blood. They will be children of two worlds, and they will be the seeds of peace, my lady. Your children would do great things in the history of our countries. Would that not make you proud?”
Elle was watching him butter the bread with longing in her eyes. His words made sense, but they were confusing her because she’d only been raised to understand conflict. Understanding peace… That was a difficult concept.
“I… I do not know,” she said honestly.
Christopher could see that she was put off balance by his question. “Having such children would be leaving your mark upon the history of Wales far more than fighting and dying for Brython,” he said. Then he stood up and went to her, holding out the piece of buttered bread. “Peace is always the better way, my lady. I believe you can become a great lady if you will only understand that.”
The bread was too close, and she was starving. She couldn’t even remember when she last had bread. Her pride collapsed and she took the bread, shoving it into her mouth as he directed her toward the table. Like a dumb animal being led to the slaughter, she let him guide her to a chair even as he put more food in front of her, all the food she could eat. All the food she’d been denied since the siege began. Food and drink was hers for the taking as Christopher poured wine for her himself, leaning down so he was closer to her ear.
“If you are to play a man’s game, then you must remember this,” he said quietly. “In battle, there is always a winner and always a loser. In this case, you have lost. This loss will be what you make of it—it can change your life to one of gratitude or one of misery. Choose gratitude, my lady. You cannot always have everything you want in life. Teach your husband about the Welsh. Show him the good things, not the hatred and resistance. Give him a reason to help you fight for your people, should it come to that. Give him a reason to defendyou.”
With that, he finished pouring and headed over to the tent flap as Elle continued to shovel food in her mouth, which was so full that she could hardly chew. Christopher kept an eye on her as he muttered to a soldier outside the tent. When the soldier fled, Christopher reclaimed his seat across from Elle and watched her eat.
Like a woman starving.
Perhaps it had been a dirty trick to play on her, withholding food when she was clearly very hungry, but he thought his tactic might have worked. At least he had her thinking.
Now, he had to get the other half of this equation thinking, too.
CHAPTER TWO
“There can’t bemore than three or four hundred men in there, Curt.” A young knight with blond hair pulled into a ponytail at the back of his grimy neck was speaking. “I believe we’ve rounded up almost everyone. I’ve got more men heading into the keep and outbuildings to make sure.”
Sir Curtis de Lohr listened to the report from his brother with satisfaction. “Well done, Myles,” he said. They were standing in the open gatehouse, with the burned gates and lifted portcullis in front of them. Everything was twisted and burned, indicative of efforts of the English. “Nearly a month of siege, two hours of fighting once we breached the walls, and it’s all over. Seems almost a disappointment.”
Myles grinned. He, too, was looking at the gatehouse as de Lohr men moved in and gangs of prisoners were moved out. There was still some fighting going on in places, but for the most part, the castle had surrendered.
“I was hoping for more of a fight once we got in,” he said. “We’ve had no fight at all for a month, and other than building platforms and launching projectiles over the wall, it has been rather dull.”
Curtis was amused. “You can always punch a Welshman in the face as he walks by you on his way to being imprisoned.”
Myles shook his head. “It is no fun unless he fights back.”
Curtis chuckled at his younger brother. “Agreed,” he said. “Mayhap there is still a Welshman or two left who would be happy to continue the fight, but I’ll have to stand aside. My squire took my sword to be cleaned already, a sure sign of the end of battle. Who is in charge of sweeping the keep, by the way?”
“Roi and Sherry,” Myles said. “Sherry has Adam and Andrew and Gabriel with him, so they’ll make short work of the keep. I swear those boys are more frightening than their father ever was.”
Curtis snorted. “Look at who their mother is,” he said. “Our dearest sister Christin could take on an entire army by herself and probably win. How Alexander de Sherrington ever tamed our bold and terrifying sister is a mystery.”
Myles eyed him. “You do not favor a bold woman, eh?”
Curtis shook his head firmly. “Give me a lovely, sweet, well-bred daughter of an earl who will produce strong sons and never speak her mind,” he said. “Thatis the perfect woman.”
“That is a boring woman.”
“Why do you say that?”
